


Shining, Shimmering, Splendid

by LillithEvans



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Alternate Universe - Period AU, F/M, Gisaeng, Goryeo Dynasty, Hierarchy, M/M, Slaves, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillithEvans/pseuds/LillithEvans
Summary: A staunch loyalist of the Goryeo government, being a soldier on the defending front of Northern Yuan is the greatest honor Hwang Minhyun has ever experienced.And because honor is all he has when wealth, status and everything else has left him and his family, Hwang Minhyun will defend it with all he has.Even against his desires for something greater with a slave man he's certain he'll never see again.
Relationships: Hwang Minhyun/Kim Jonghyun | JR
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: Nu'fics x The Parallel





	Shining, Shimmering, Splendid

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the weird.

“AH – HWANG – COME ON – live a little!"

“Forgive me sir, but liquor and entertainment have never quite been my favourite method of stress relief and while I don't quite understand why we must keep a registry of all the gisaeng in the county - I will leave you to that task as you are entirely very capable of it.” Assistant Minister Ryu ends up slumped on the ground. His garments irreversibly tattered by the impact against the paved smooth stone that thankfully hasn’t sliced his head open. The tittering gisaengs around them lift his commanding officer’s head and pull him off to where no doubt at least three rolls of his silver tongbo were sure to find themselves in a very different dark crevice by the end of the night. “I will however, be here till the end of the night to ensure I see you home as I always do."

The last of his words are only heard by the small collection of gisaeng women who turn to look at him shaking their heads but leaving him to his own devices.

This isn’t his first rodeo. This isn’t even his fifteenth rodeo. For some reason, Assistant Ryu hasn’t yet gotten the message that his new recruit doesn’t quite care for the company of women paid to tell lies or the liquor and dance they so copiously offer up to lull and soothe the wounds soldiers can’t brandish proudly.

It isn’t that he doesn’t respect them and the work they do. He does. Everyone after all is is just looking to serve the King in their own way and this is their job. They may be new to the government architecture, they may be little more than glorified slaves and he may not be used to them or what they're supposed to represent - but at the end of the day they are, like him, ordered by the King to perform their job. 

So he will help them do that but there is no need for him to do anything else and line their pockets with any of his hard earned silver. 

For one thing, he doesn't find the idea of lying with a woman beneath him all that appealing. Mostly because his mother would have his head but also because he is betrothed and has been for as long as he can remember.

Now, he may not have a particular fondness for Bae Joo Hyun but he did swear to be loyal to her at the tender age of twelve when he didn't understand what the word loyalty even meant.

Still, he is that type of man, raised with honor and truth in him and so he must hold himself true to her even if he isn't quite sure why it is he's doing it.

The good thing about the gisaeng house then is that he is never particularly allured by the women here, all too aware of how there's a hint of dimness even behind their flecked pale, dark lined eyes. 

The first thing affords him the excuse for his second thing. More specifically that he – he’s never quite understood it, that insatiable desire that the men around him have to relieve themselves of whatever it is that they hold heavy in their hearts to these women who are no doubt empty vessels in their own way only surviving off sweet falsities whispered to tortured ears bandaging torn hearts.

Not only is that the most unproductive thing he’s heard of (unproductive is a cardinal sin to him – and only him in this world he's afraid), it’s also stupid. Poetry is a far better medium through which to salve festering wounds of the heart.

He glances around him, seeking privacy, and spotting a collection of dwarfed lilac trees wanders off to hide behind them, so that no other woman may come to accost him to come inside with her. 

Thankfully, the courtyard of the house has begun to empty, women (and the men who are visiting them) disappearing into the many rooms lining the lush grounds. A glance at the moon confirms that they have just passed the darkest part of the night and no one, least of all his commanding officers, would care to worry about why the young officer they have been forced to enlist here at the front has a tiny set of scriptures in his hand.

Satisfied with the validation of his privacy, he pulls his book open and takes a deep breath, settling in against the tree to get comfortable.

_Tender is the heart that speaks  
In soft , shrouded words  
Old is the tale  
A fable of unsaid, unseen pain  
Paved is the road that walks to you  
Paradise in thinly veiled smoke _

“Hwang daegam –“

He jolts up in the air, immediately throwing the book behind his shoulders.

He hasn't shared his love of poetry with the ministers and generals he's often around but mostly because he's unsure of how it would paint him. He knows soldiers aren't meant to hold words close to their hearts like scholars are rewarded for - so it just perhaps wouldn't do to be caught reading it for now. In their exact words – it’s fluff philosophy with no real direction or decisive meaning.

He doesn’t believe that though. Philosophy is the language of the mind, thoughts and ideas – morals by which to live but poetry?

Poetry is the words that give meaning to what cannot be otherwise expressed. 

Unfortunately, caught is all he can be since the book in his hands has flown right out of them and gone to hit a young man right behind him straight in the face.

He clears his throat and narrows his gaze at the mild look of infuriation on the other man’s face as he battles between leaving the drinks in his hands on the stone and walking away or finishing his task as required –

He’ll make that decision a bit easier. The sooner this man leaves, the better. “Excuse me, what is your business here?

“Your supervising officer sent refreshments for you, sir.” The server’s eyes do not rise to meet his, instead staying fixed on the tray in front of him which he then chooses to set down on the stone to the side before bringing his hands together and bowing deeply. “Well, then – I’ll leave you to your copy of Ong-ssi's ‘Late Autumn Breeze’– “

His eyebrows jolt up. He's certain the cover of the book isn't open so the man recognized it purely with a glance at the words lain open on the floor. “You know the book?”

“His works are favoured amongst all at the house. They bring much needed comfort when it's required.” The server bows his head again, this time raising it a little higher but still avoiding his gaze. “You’d know that if you ever went inside..."

He blinks quickly, a frown decorating his lips. “I see no need to buy lies offered up by slaves since they're often offered up for free from those of a higher stature anyways and I've had my fill of those -“

The other man’s mouth quirks up. “Of course, Hwang daegam whatever brings you peace ." It’s not a response so much as a final note to their conversation, leaving a bitter note on his tongue because he's certain the little slave boy is mocking him in his mind even with the kindness his string of words are supposed to mean. “I do hope you enjoy your wine.”

Well, that's the other problem - he doesn't really indulge in wine. Not since his father's slow descent into exile - most of it driven by alcohol. He is his family's last hope to honor and he can't squander that on anything - least of all a less than favourable night and rumors about him circulating because of exploits at a gisaeng house.

He stays purposefully quiet, unwilling to indulge in any new conversation and with not much else left to say the server turns on his heels, silk purple robes floating in the night sky, colour shifting against the dimly lit flare of the torches decorating the perimeter of the garden.

Certain no one else is watching him, he leans down to pick up the book - page opened to something he hadn't yet had a chance to read - 

_The sun and the moon dance  
Step in step  
Unyielding in the rule of their kingdoms  
Unforgiving in their admiration  
For the moon and the sun_

The next night he is back and like a predictable choreographed routine, he fends off his boss’s attempts to drag him into the inner chambers of the gisaeng house before waiting for the rest of the courtyard to empty and then settling in against a particularly sunken portion of the lilac tree he prefers so that it's branches may cover the upper half of his body. 

“Your wine, Hwang Daegam.”

He jolts this time too but at least the book doesn’t go flying in the direction of the other man. Even so, something about him brings an immense amount of amusement over the other man's face.

He is not sure whether to be offended or pleased that he's able to rouse such an extreme amusement from someone else. In one way, he's never done it - in another way he's almost certain he, not his intellect, is the source of this amusement and can't help but wonder if in someway this makes him a fool to be laughed at by some small slave.

To his credit, upon realizing he is the subject of intense scrutiny the slave's eyes avert to the ground, not having expected to be observed so closely and yet unwilling still to claw back that irritating smile covering his mouth. "I must tell you - this wine you choose to bring me is no solace for my night, I don't enjoy the taste of liquor and would wish for you to take it back. I'm sure there's many a man here who'd be much happier to drink it."

"And here I was thinking it was something I did -" Well, the mocking expression on the slave man's face doesn't help but he isn't so petty.

Still, he's well aware of his own flaws and just how coldly he can speak - so he can't fault the other man for assuming something that isn't untrue. “I apologize for any rudeness you may have interpreted from my actions yesterday...I don't have the privilege of speaking with those of your status -"

The man's chin tilts to the right, as if confused but he doesn't speak more of it, instead only choosing to bow his head graciously accepting the apology. “What’s yesterday is of yesterday."

Wait a second -

He looks down at his book and then looks up at the smiling face on the slave man's face. “Were you reading over my shoulder?”

Without invitation, the slave man sits two feet away from him and proceeds to try to lean over to continue doing just that. “Would that be so horrible? I haven't gotten all the way through that one."

Oh.

Do the - gisaeng read poetry readily? Or is it just this man?

He supposes he could - share? Knowledge shared is knowledge doubled after all.

He decides to set the book down between them, fingers running across the inner spine of the book, the softness of the pages soothing the light frazzle he's feeling on his nerves as he shifts a little further away from the slave man if only to put some proper distance between them. “So…you appreciate poetry too? Is that normal for your people?”

"For my 'people'?"

"The slave class -"

"Ah, no it's not quite typical." He agrees. "Neither is the way we dress or behave or anything else about us - but being His Majesty's most revered slaves have some benefits. Education being one of them I suppose -"

Oh. Now this is all making so much sense. Of course - He's not sure whether he's impressed with the minister or offended. "I can't believe they thought this would work."

The man looks back at him, a blank shimmer over his gaze as that same unabashed amused expression comes over him. "What would work?"

"You!" He rolls his eyes, pulling his book to his side when a hand comes over to the other edge of the paper and he feels a force pull it away from him. "I'm not sharing with you anymore -"

For someone who should be feeling a lot more rejected, the man is surprisingly congenial. "And what is it that you think I am, Hwang daegam?"

"You need me to say it? Your clothes, the manner of your speaking, your appearance -"

"My appearance?"

He chooses to disregard that because he is hardly going to offer up compliments to him. That would be playing right into his hands! "Please, you must know how to dance at least the sword dance -"

There's something about the way the laughs tumble out of his mouth. It's remarkably endearing how he looks at being caught red-handed. "It is a favourite - I'm particularly adept at it. I've heard I can go toe-to-toe with many a soldier -"

"How many soldiers have you danced with?"

"I don't know Hwang daegam - would you care to find out by dancing yourself?"

He wouldn't but the flush on his face rises anyways and he does his best to inject anger in his voice if only to cover up the gut crushing embarrassment he feels bubbling up within him. "And the fact you speak of how you serve the majesty -" He clears his throat. "You're - you're obviously one of them."

"One of whom?"

"Gisaeng."

The slave man's eyebrows furrow, he blinks quickly. "What?"

"I - I've just never heard of a man - being one but it would make sense."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Hwang daegam - but our king has not yet designated men to the role of gisaeng in Goryeo yet." 

"So -"

"So I'm not here sitting beside you, asking to read your poetry to seduce you clean of your money. I'm just a slave." No longer feeling the need to quell his reaction, the man sniggers right at him and pulls the book away to run his hands over the pages petulantly. "I think I deserve full unobstructed access to the book for that, don't you?"

He is not wrong. He does deserve it. He's also feeling remarkably stupid because in some sick way he feels like he's revealed a portion of himself he didn't mean to. Still, if he keeps the rest of the words on his lips to himself then maybe this will just end up a whisper in the air instead of a whisper that reaches his superior officers. "So why do you love poetry then?"

“Forced to? Part of the upbringing – “ He points around the gisaeng house. “It’s more than just words to us you know.”

"But you're not a gisaeng?" 

“No, no -“ The man laughs, waving a hand in front of his face. “Nothing like that but – like any job, this one can be long and tiring and those words aren’t just songs and stories we’re forced to memorize. They’re also comfort in the middle of the night, a source of strength. For me, it means waking up and supporting the women here – for them – it means even more.”

“So – you like working here then?”

“It’s a living. It’s one I grew up into. I’m lucky in my own way…but perhaps not as lucky as you, Hwang daegam.” The man shrugs and it’s only at that moment it occurs to him that he’s been referring to this man as a ‘man’ and nothing else but he’d like to have something to call him by. A name that suits him and his story.

“What makes you think I’m so lucky?”

At that, the man laughs riotously, one small hand placed over his smaller chest. “They talk about you inside, you know. I know more about you than I probably should –“

“All the more unfair then that you’ve offered me up nothing more than the place of your birth – which can hardly have been nice to you -"

“Not true, I shared that I liked poetry and this house has been kind to me and my mother when she was alive." He looks around the home fondly and he can't help but remark how at peace he looks. "Working here means I can help keep women like her safe, and in my own way I'm grateful for all of the other things I've learned - like sword dancing."

“And that you’re apparently allowed to slack off – “

“It’s that time of night when everyone’s filled their cups to the brim and asked me not to come back till morning to help clean. in these hours, I can rest.” Ah. Okay well that explains that. The man gives him an understanding grin and he clears his throat. “If it helps, I can offer you a name.”

“That would be the decent thing to do.”

Despite the fact that was an obvious insult, the man takes it as a joke. “Well, forgive me I did grow up in a gisaeng house. When they're not required, we throw manners to the wind.” He throws him a withering look, showing just how unappreciative he is of that attempt at a joke and so he’s rewarded with a name. “It’s Jonghyun.”

“Just Jonghyun?”

“Just Jonghyun. None of us here belong to a family so we don't have a name like yours.” He smiles back proudly. “If you'd like to know what it's made of though, my name's built of the Hanja for alcohol bottles and shining –“

“How descriptive of how we met.” He drawls back with the intention of being just as sarcastic but Jonghyun only offers him a small shy smile which makes him feel like he’s said something he’s not sure he should have.

Regardless, the edges of his toes curl into his feet and he remains thankful that his shoes cover the action from Jonghyun’s perceptive gaze.

He decides not to offer up the making of his name for now because it feels unfair to him that he has a family name and Jonghyun doesn't. Unbranded entirely, an identity meant to be lost in history.

Still, now as he looks around the building around them he sees something more than a gisaeng house where his officers come to have their fancies tickled and hearts appeased.

In it's own way - this place is also a home. 

The next night moves achingly slow. It is partially his fault. He did allow himself to be dragged into the lounge space with the hope of learning what the men inside speak of him when they’re drunk but it looks like that’s going to be nothing at all in his presence.

In fact, all he’s had the pleasure of doing all evening is watch as his colleagues slowly lose control of not only their sense of decorum (that is to be expected when the women’s tops slide from their shoulders which although is a sight he was prepared for is not one he feels all that fond for as their chests remain banded behind thick straps of cloth) but also their faculties (no one asked Taehyun to throw up in that poor woman’s chest but she laughs it off).

All in all, he is convinced that he most definitely made the right decision when he first chose to never enter the gisaeng lounge and honestly wishes he hadn’t already done it yet today. A few more precious hours with a book would have hardly hurt and what a useless night it’s been – he hasn’t even had a real conversation.

If he’s being honest with himself – it’s the conversation he longs for more than words on a page but honesty isn’t all that popular around these parts so he’ll keep that truth to his subconscious as it does it’s best to wipe the memory of Jonghyun’s surprised stare as he drank an obligatory glass of makgeolli earlier.

Which leads him to now. He’s managed to somehow escape under the guise of relieving himself but instead he’s standing here underneath the lilac tree hoping for Jonghyun to somehow materialize out of thin air as if just standing here will serve the purpose of calling for him.

He doesn’t though. Jonghyun is busy and he knows that. He saw Taehyun throw up at least three times in the last hour and Jonghyun’s job may not be tied to the traditional services offered by the establishment but he is definitely a hard worker making sure that all the other work in the house happens seamlessly.

It makes him think if there’s ever been anything else that Jonghyun’s wanted more. The idea of his life is so far removed from him that he can’t even fathom what it must be like growing up a practical orphan amongst a sea of mothers and sisters and – “So, you’re absolutely sure you don’t drink?”

And strange men.

Strange men like him.

It can hardly be safe. Men can be violent creatures, especially under the influence and it can hardly be safe for Jonghyun if Jonghyun's job is to help keep the women here safe. 

He clears his mind of his thoughts and turns back to the apparition he wished for. Today, Jonghyun’s donned in dark blue silk , the colour of a rich night sky and while he certainly wears his clothes with confidence – he wears exhaustion like a charm. Neck stretched up, skin taut and tight – “Tired?”

And a brilliant smile sparkling like stars in the sky. “Like you wouldn’t believe. You soldiers really know how to have a good time. Poetry or otherwise.”

He shrugs. “Perils of knowing you have to die young.”

“May as well let them live life to the fullest while they can then.” Jonghyun groans, coming to sit right beside him but only to rest his back against the firm trunk of the lilac tree.

It's the closest they've ever been.

Not that - that's important. It's merely fact, announcing itself in his mind so he's conscious of just how to maintain propriety even at this closed gap between them.

He may be the only one thinking at all of this though because Jonghyun just closes his eyes and lets the cool breeze and silence between them soothe him. “I used to feel sore after training all day when I went to the soldier's academy. I know some things that could help?”

“Somehow I have a feeling that’s two very different kind of sores. I'm hardly built like a soldier -"

"And neither was I - I wanted to be a scholar but the men in my family came from the royal regiment and -”

"So you're saying with enough training I could look like you do?" Jonghyun sidles closer, turning his frame so it feels like they’re standing in line for something instead of completely alone in the middle of the courtyard. He's not sure why the words make him feel like there's a cloyingly sweet yakgwa in his mouth but it renders him silent so Jonghyun relieves him of the pressure of answering. “You went inside today.”

Ah - well that's a granted. “You convinced me?”

Jonghyun doesn't look very convinced. “I find that hard to believe.” 

“I wanted to see what it is they said about me - “

“They’re not going to do that when you’re inside."

“I know that – now – “ Somehow this entire exchange has left Jonghyun smiling at him like he’s let in on a coy secret. “What?”

“It’s endearing. Your approach to how you live this privileged life of yours. It should be irritating and yet I’m here – drawn to this staunch sense of lawfulness that practically bleeds off you."

His toes curl in, but this time the sensation isn’t enough to swallow back the feeling Jonghyun’s words draw out in him. "Sometimes - I'm not that righteous."

"I also find that very hard to believe."

If saying it won't make Jonghyun trust his words...then perhaps he could show him.

He moves a little closer but Jonghyun's eyes are still closed and the action doesn't really render any sense of surprise from the other man as he lets out low breaths from his mouth.

The reason he was so upset yesterday that Jonghyun could have been - bought for him - was just that.

His flaw.

He moves and falls over himself, only just managing to make it look like he too is tired and unable to hold himself back up as Jonghyun looks at him with one winked eye open. “I’m feeling particularly kind today, so I’ll indulge you Hwang Minhyun."

His first instinct is to rejoice. “You will?” His second instinct is to clear his throat and pull back from his first instinct. “That’s – that’s really not required – it's not like that's - your job."

It's a little stupid, really. How much he finds himself wishing it was Jonghyun's job to do that. 

“No, I don’t mind. It’s not like its some grand secret. They talk about it pretty openly inside – “Oh, he meant tell him what his colleagues are saying about him behind his back. “Some of the women are in on it now too. It’s a bit of a running bet.”

“A bet?”

“A bet on why you’re not interested in pursuing any of the ‘activities’ we’re so famous for – “

“Can’t a man just – want to be by himself.”

“Evidently not without having others want to stick their nose into his business.” Jonghyun pouts alongside him, feigning a tantrum of his own and he hates it. He hates how it makes his insides feel like he’s bitten off more than he could chew. “Not that I’m in on the bet or anything – “

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes. “Can’t a man just want to read?”

“Hey, in my opinion – you can do whatever you want.” His eyes flash up but Jonghyun’s staring up at the moon above them, her narrow stream of light shining down on him like a blessing, illuminating the glow of his skin. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“I’m betrothed.”

Jonghyun tuts under his breath as if this explains so much. “And what a lovely girl she must be.”

“She’s horrid.” Jonghyun turns to him laughing, although looking quite offended on Joo Hyun’s behalf. “What?”

“Usually men save the curses till after the marriage – you know when the nagging begins and that's when they come running in here looking for a second wife only to never marry her."

Jonghyun's speaking like an old man. “Because you’d know so well –“

"Sorry Hwang daegam - but I have no plans to get married." He bows his head apologetically, but in this way Jonghyun holds no duty to the king like the nobles do. His partnership does not need to be arranged strategically to bring about the most value to the kingdom and the noble families. No one will ever care about the small slave man in the village the Northern Yuan front. That is Jonghyun's reward for not having a last name. "Not now, not ever.”

“Because you couldn’t – have a family working here?”

“Sure, that must have played a part in my decision maybe subconsciously.” Jonghyun agrees. “But I think it has more to do with how I see my future…and somehow I don’t see a wife being a part of it.”

But without a wife - “Don’t you want children?”

Jonghyun shrugs. “It is the way of life…but I guess living here where the cycle of life is always on pause, I’ve just learned to appreciate that single breath you’re allowed when you’re living for yourself and so few of us get to live beyond our years. I think I’d like to be selfish and live all my years for myself and the person I love, when I find them.”

Somehow he finds this incredibly selfish of Jonghyun to share because the idea of this future - it's so entirely unattainable to him that it feels cruel that someone like Jonghyun should have this opportunity to live life as he pleases and he - a member of the government and their army - should not. “Well, you’re not going to find her here.“

“Why not?” Jonghyun pushes back, an irritated expression burgeoning on his face.

“Well…the women here…they work.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

“Well actually – in all honesty no, I wouldn’t be okay with that but not because they work here. More because of other aspects of their identity that don’t quite align with the type of person I’m looking for.”

Somehow he has a feeling what Jonghyun’s really doing is prompting him to ask – “What kind of person are you looking for?”

Jonghyun turns to look at him, and with the mere impact of his attention on him he can feel his sides tickle in a sort of pained torture he's not aware of ever having felt before in his life. "Someone a little less righteous, Hwang Daegam."

This time the tickle turns into a knife, wedged clean into his side and he's certain Jonghyun means him to try and finish what he almost started in a moment of weakness.

He would blame the wine but this - he knows - is not the wine's fault. It's his own fault. His own staunch stubborn insistence to hide behind the shield he puts over the parts of him he can never reveal to the world that he's almost certain Jonghyun would like to draw out.

But how is he supposed to do that? Jonghyun is but a moment here but back in Kaesong? There are people there relying on him to return and restore all that their father has lost them, bring them back in favour with the King, allow them the luxuries they once had and he has a duty to his family.

He's spent the last few days looking down on Jonghyun for his upbringing, for the women who he protects, for the way he approaches life - but this time as he looks down at himself he can't help but wonder -

Perhaps the real slave here isn't Jonghyun.

It's him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the weird. Also, please look up Hwang Jin Yi's poetry.


End file.
